


Kiss it Better

by laurelgreengrass (DontDrinkColdCoffee)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontDrinkColdCoffee/pseuds/laurelgreengrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a serious outbreak of an allergy mutation at Hogwarts, and Harry and Draco are quarantined together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss it Better

Not that anybody was playing the fault card, but the whole thing could have been avoided if Eira Fairhurst, a second year Ravenclaw, had not decided to try and smuggle her baby rabbit into Hogwarts. Well, that and the fact that her best friend had shown an allergic reaction to rabbit hair, something foreign to wizardkind used to sharing living spaces with animals and pets of all sorts, so that Madam Pomfrey, instead of curing her of her allergy, somehow managed to alter her antihistamines into a virus that would leave its inhabitant sneezing and wheezing, with red blotchy faces and an urge to scratch every available surface of their skin.

“And here I was thinking it was impossible to take Hogwarts down,” Ron sighed as another girl was led out of the Great Hall from the sparsely seated Hufflepuff table by Professor McGonagall.

“From the outside, maybe,” Harry mused.

“I really hope they’ll find a cure soon. Just imagine catching it by accident and missing out so much time for recovery! All of the eighth and seventh years could say good-bye to their NEWTs,” Hermione grumbled. It was not like everybody knew should she catch it, she would probably figure out a cure in a few nights and then proceed to get her stellar NEWTs anyway.

Harry didn’t mind so much. He had seen the hospital wing more times than he could care to count, an experience he would not exactly like to repeat yet _again_ , but he found school to be more and more tedious, or overall pointless, and sometimes wished for “some time off”, NEWTs and social obligations be damned.

Or that was until he let his eyes roam around the room and found Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table feigning to swoon from coughing like the little girl had just a few seconds ago.

A fine line appeared between Harry’s eyebrows and he inwardly curled his palms into fists.

There was a patent anger surging through him at the thought that Draco Malfoy, after Harry had testified at his Death Eater trial, after begging to be allowed back to school to finish his education and crawling through the dirt of personal sacrifices and minor punishments, still did not seem to have grown up enough to stop making fun of other students.

Before he knew it, he had kicked back his chair and was on his feet on the way over to give Malfoy a piece of his mind. Hermione did not even sigh and try to stop him this time – it had happened one time too often.

“Potter,” Draco said with a malicious grin when Harry was in earshot of his seat before Harry came to a halt in front of him, “to what do we owe the pleasure of being graced with the presence of the Saviour himself?”

Harry regarded him with a quick huff. “Malfoy, I want you to stop making fun of younger students.”

“And since when do I give a damn what you think or want me to do? And even if you’d saved the wizarding world five times instead of two, not everyone will cater to your every wish and bidding, get over it, Potter.”

“Malfoy, I’m warning you. Make fun of younger students one more time-“

“Or what?”

Harry was close to hitting Malfoy, but just as he wanted to fire a reply, he was cut short by a violent sneeze that seemed to leave his whole body void of air.

“Ew!” a few of the Slytherins screamed and scurried away, but Malfoy just stayed where he sat and huffed out a few pitying laughs at Harry.

“Ahh, so that’s what being outwitted by the Boy Who Lived feels like – If you’re lost for words you just sneeze!”

Harry’s cheeks flamed an angry red and he came a step closer, so that if he kicked hard enough, it would send Malfoy toppling down on the floor.

“Seriously, Malfoy, you’re such a pr- _achoo_!“ Another sneeze rippled through his body, this time definitely aimed at Draco who eventually crouched away.

But before he could come to his senses again to continue chastising Malfoy, he saw his features drop and he pointed at Harry’s face with comically wide eyes.

“Oh, Merlin, please, don’t…” he murmured, and Harry brought a hand up to feel the spot Draco was pointing at – there was a thick, probably red blotch forming under his fingers. Harry wanted to sneeze again.

Then McGonagall tapped him on the shoulder with her wand.

“Mr Potter, considering the fact that you are evidently incubated, I will forego the question after your business sneezing on pupils at a table that isn’t yours, but I also have the misfortune to inform you and Mr Malfoy of your quarantine.”

“My… what?” Harry heard Draco ask as his own jaw dropped down on his chest.

“If you’d follow me, gentlemen.” Professor McGonagall had put on a stern expression and made an even firmer motion with her hand that left no questions to be asked.

And this was how Harry Potter found himself quarantined together with Draco Malfoy.

“You realise this is all your fault, Potter,” Draco snarled once Professor McGonagall had ushered them behind a curtain and transfigured their clothes into hospital pyjamas.

“Of course, Malfoy,” Harry said, suddenly too tired to fight back properly. He sat down on one of the beds and put his head in his hands. He was pretty sure that Madam Pomfrey would merely run a few checks on them and then both of them – or at least Draco, if he didn’t show splotches like him – would be allowed to go again.

He did not see the single eyebrow Draco raised as he impatiently started tapping his foot against the floor where he stood looming over Harry.

“I mean, I would not expect you to understand, obviously,” Draco trailed on. “But I think there are quite a few people who would agree with me that it’s rather a minority who fulfil their life’s deed at the tender age of seventeen. Some of us actually have to-“

“Oh, come off it, Malfoy,” Harry sighed with a deep sort of growl and frowned at him. “You know that’s not what this is about. So if you could just shut up for five minutes before Madam Pomfrey shows up? Thank you.”

To his surprise, Draco actually clamped his mouth shut and looked away with an unreadable expression. Annoyance? Harry didn’t bother wondering about Malfoy’s face any further and closed his eyes again. He was pretty sure he had slept last night. He was pretty sure he shouldn’t be this-

“Mr Potter?” Harry’s eyes snapped open. Madam Pomfrey was leaning over him from where he had momentarily nodded off. He blinked at her a few times, uncomprehending, as she ran a few checks on him with her wand.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, the usual concern already tinting her voice.

Harry shrugged. “Alright, I guess.” He suppressed a cough that was starting to ripple out of his throat.

“I can see that,” Madam Pomfrey nodded curtly and then attended to Malfoy.

“Professor McGonagall informs me Mr Potter must have sneezed on you, Mr Malfoy. Is that correct?”

Malfoy snorted at her wording, but nodded regardless.

“Well, then it looks like the two of you might as well get yourselves comfortable around here.” Madam Pomfrey gestured for Malfoy to lie down as well. “So far we only know that the general infection time of the virus is around two weeks, after which you should be able to attend classes again. The virus strikes differently in every wizard, some of whom will just be highly infectious, but possess an otherwise healthy impression, whereas others will be bed bound and of poor condition. Professor McGonagall will bring your books and other various study materials along shortly, but for now you should both rest. Good night, gentlemen.”

Harry dimly felt himself nodding before snuggling into his pillow.

“Wait,” Malfoy started to argue, “Two weeks? Isn’t that a bit much? I feel fi-“

“As I told you, Mr Malfoy, you might not feel sick, but would prove highly infectious to other students regardless. Just be glad that you have been quarantined with company and don’t have to spend a fortnight on your own like some of the poor second years have to.”

They both turned around to look at Harry who tried to sneer at Draco, but didn’t manage more than a weak dopey smile.

“Yeah. Great,” Draco said with a suppressed eye-roll and hauled himself onto the other bed.

“Good night, gentlemen,” Madam Pomfrey repeated mildly and left them to it.

Harry heard Draco breathing extra loud and hard – it was nothing compared to the short, meticulous breaths he took when concentrating during Potions class – but before he could throw another insult or blame at him, Harry had already slipped from consciousness into a deep slumber.

He briefly woke the next morning – or was it the middle of the night? He felt a little timeless – to the hushed tones of Draco and Madam Pomfrey talking at the other end of the room.

“Madam Pomfrey?” Draco half-whispered, but Harry didn’t open his eyes. “I was wondering… Why is it that you are allowed to care for us in such close proximity if we are highly infectious?”

Harry heard Madam Pomfrey sit down on the chair next to Draco’s bed. “Well, Mr Malfoy, as a trained Healer and, incidentally, also the unfortunate creator of the virus we’re speaking of, I have built a stronger resistance to your illness. But I think you should also like to thank Professor McGonagall for providing my person with an invisible shield against any germs and bacteria in the hospital wing.”

 

This was interesting, Harry thought, but he was almost too tired to hear Draco’s response.

“So does this shield only guard you against viruses from the outside or would it also contain them to your person should you fall ill?”

Madam Pomfrey let out a quiet chuckle. “This has not occurred for over fifty years, Mr Malfoy, so I’m afraid it has yet to be put to the test. Why are you asking? Are you considering a career as a Healer?”

Harry’s ears perked up, even in the drowsy state he was in. Malfoy a Healer? There was a thought his brain did not seem able to form. Somehow, he had never seen Malfoy past being a snotty rich boy who would probably live off his parents’ fund his whole life, now and again making an appearance in the ministry to ensure his investments’ payoff would not dwindle.

“Well, I…” Malfoy stopped himself. “I was actually rather wondering whether it was possible to impose such a shield on patients like me as well, so that I could take classes without posing a threat of infection to other students.”

Madam Pomfrey made a thoughtful noise at that and Harry dared to crack one eye open. “I have to admit that I have never thought about that,” she said. “Let me talk to Professor McGonagall about it. Until then, could you ensure that you take your potions and have an eye on Mr Potter taking his when he wakes up? Thank you.”

Harry quickly pressed his eyes shut again as she hurried over to put a few flasks on his nightstand before adjusting his sheets and leaving them alone.

The frustrated sound Malfoy made as he threw himself back into the sheets made him open them again.

“You never answered her question,” he said, voice croaky from his dry throat and a full night’s sleep.

Draco flinched at the sound and shot him an incredulous glare. “Maybe it’s nobody’s business what I’m doing with my life.”

Harry reached for his potions and shook his head. He understood the notion only too well, what with reporters left, right and centre bothering him whenever he left the house before he returned to Hogwarts.

But this was a Draco Malfoy, a possible Draco Malfoy who wanted to put the second chance he had been given to a valuable cause, who wanted to actually work to redeem himself and maybe even saw the wrongs of his old ways. It was a Draco Malfoy he had not known as of yet, and therefore a Draco Malfoy he found incredibly intriguing.

After a few hours, their schoolbooks appeared on their bedside stands, along with a list of notes in a neat script that looked like it had been written by someone like Hermione.

Draco sat up and immediately set to work, apparently keen on the diversion. Harry, who had been drifting in and out of sleep ever since taking his potions, would have loved to continue to do so until Madam Pomfrey reappeared. Or for an unspecified amount of time, really.

He took his potions textbook, the one that seemed to have the longest list attached to it, and began to wonder if Professor Slughorn would be satisfied with an essay that made no references to the actual process of brewing a potion.

Not that Harry had had to worry about any grades ever since he returned to school, but sometimes he liked to think back to the time when only death had been an excuse not to turn in his homework. Being called “the Saviour” by some rubbish newspaper and having his face appear in some “20 under 20” features apparently did the trick for most teachers to not even insist on his presence to give him Os in every assignment. (Although he had personally requested to be removed from the list when he had learned it had once featured none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. The nerve of some people.)

He considered it unfair treatment, not only towards hardworking students like Hermione, who had set out for top-notch NEWTs from Year One, but also other students who had fought equally as hard in the Battle of Hogwarts, but didn’t get a magazine cover spread.

Now that he was sitting here, he considered for the first time the effect this sort of double-standard treatment must have on students like Malfoy.

Thinking about his classes, he couldn’t name a single time this year that a teacher had awarded him, or any Slytherin for that matter, even a single point, and Harry couldn’t imagine that it was simply because their answers were never right.

Especially since Draco had always been top of his class, trumped only by Hermione, and Harry refused to believe that this had changed over the course of a year.

Was it true that the teachers were especially hard on him to ensure Draco would enter an obstructed career before he had even left Hogwarts?

Suddenly, Draco glanced up to meet Harry’s slightly clouded gaze and he realised that he’d been staring. At Draco Malfoy. For about five minutes now.

“What?” Draco hissed.

Harry just shook his head and turned back to his book, only to realise that he had never opened it in the first place.

“I mean, I know my hair can be distracting if yours looks like that,” Draco drawled, “but if you think that you can somehow absorb my knowledge about the Wiggenweld potion, I think you’re going to be disappointed.”

 

Harry knew that this insult was set out to engage in him in an argument, but he couldn’t find a single comeback in him.

Instead he just mumbled a “yeah, yeah,” and turned back to his book to look for the Wiggenweld potion in the index. His mind stayed with Malfoy though, and how unfair it was that just because someone had made a few wrong decisions in the past and objectively been forgiven by a judge, people would still play out their hatred towards him. Were they still living in such a judgemental world?

“Seriously, Potter, are you even trying to study? That curtain is not going to turn into Professor Slughorn to tell you everything you need to know.” Draco’s voice drifted over to him.

“Hm,” Harry mumbled and suppressed a yawn. “Do you also find it so hard to concentrate?”

Draco frowned at him as he slowly turned his head to look over to the other bed, a fine line of worry between his eyebrows betraying his otherwise distant features.

“No,” Draco said in a cautious manner, “and I might suggest that if this appears to be the case with you, you should rather rest and try to cure yourself. I mean, I’m sure the curtain is just dying for your attention, but I can hardly see how it would do anybody any good if you exhaust yourself by simply holding a book.”

“I’m not that ill,” Harry snapped and closed the book, realising it was the quickest reaction he had shown since they stepped into the hospital wing yesterday. His view got slightly blurry around the edges.

Draco ceased to frown at him and simply shook his head, turning back to his studies. “I should’ve known you’re even too dim to notice _that_.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to frown as he tried to make sense of Draco’s words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Draco rolled his eyes and grumbled something too low for Harry to understand, then, “I’m not even talking to you.”

Harry nodded and noticed how his lower lip seemed to move forward as if acting on its own, schooling his features into a pout on its own volition. He tried to check with his conscious mind whether this was an appropriate reaction to a dismissal from Draco Malfoy, when suddenly said Malfoy piped up again.

“Do you think Madam Pomfrey has set up actual wards against us sneaking out?”

At that, a slight smirk crept on Harry’s features, again something handled completely by his subconscious. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

If possible, Draco rolled his eyes even harder this time, something Harry’s subconscious processed as a natural reaction of _why am I even talking to this moron_ and said,“I hate you.”

“Nothing new there,” Harry retorted, but before he could thank his subconscious for getting his bite back, he realised he had found the foregone encounter terribly exhausting and drifted back into a deep sleep.

“So you really are sick, Potter?”

Harry had been awake for a while, although the thought didn’t seemed to have reached his brain yet – he was still staring at Malfoy on the other side of the room.

What was wrong with him?

“No I’m not,” he half-yawned in response, just to find Malfoy chuckling without making a sound. Was he laughing at him?

“Of course.”

So maybe he felt a little out of it. But wasn’t that just a common body response after everything he had been through? He dimly remembered Hermione talking a little about immune systems crumbling in low-stress periods following high-stress periods.

 

And the last year had been nothing if not stressful. Probably more than just the last year.

Harry imagined stretching out in his bed (he was too lazy to actually do it) and nuzzled his head back into his pillow.

It had not just been the “killing Voldemort” thing. It was more the whole process of going into hiding, figuring out Horcruxes, finding them and then destroying them.

 

An uneasy memory of nearly losing Ron in the process came back to him, and of nearly losing himself had he not come back.

Oh, it had been cold in that lake. He shivered at the mere thought of it, the hairs on his arms and neck standing up on end.

He could see the sword of Gryffindor in front of his eyes again, his body convulsing from the cold, and his lungs giving out slowly from the amulet strangling him.

He flung his eyes open again. He hadn’t been able to breathe then – and the harder he seemed to try now, the more difficult it seemed to get!

He reached out to his throat, which felt oddly hot and swollen, only small puffs of air coming out of his mouth. It was like living through the scenario at the lake again, but this time, he was aware that he was lying in his hospital bed, and the best friend who had saved him was at the other end of the castle.

 _If this is how it ends_ , Harry thought, _it would be sort of ironic I guess._

But this dry humour was short-lived when he started choking again, and he felt the pressure behind his eyelids rise to an unbearable level.

Then he closed them and tried to just stop trying to get air in. Maybe it would be painless this way.

“Potter?” Suddenly there was a voice close to him, a hand on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes. Oh right, Draco. He reached out to the hand on his shoulder.

“Tell Hermione and Ron I love them.”

He hoped Draco had understood more than the low last breath it had sounded like to his ears.

“I don’t know what you seem to be thinking,” Draco replied, and Harry was dimly aware he was rolling his eyes, “but you’re not dying on my watch.”

“Madam Pomfrey!” Draco yelled over the curtain, but did not leave Harry’s side to get her. He got out his wand and mumbled something that sounded like a soft _Reducto_ at Harry’s throat.

Harry could feel the unconsciousness coming on as Draco smoothed down his hair and patted his head with more gentleness than Harry had thought him capable of.

“As if I could let you die, Harry.”

Passing out from nearly choking on a swollen throat was not the most pleasant of experiences Harry had ever had, but if only for the three day long sleep that followed, he would do it all again.

When Harry woke up, the first thing he noticed was the ease with which his breathing came, and how lying down did not seem to be a necessity anymore.

The second thing was the gentle breath of Draco Malfoy, who had fallen asleep, curled to a ball on the mattress next to him, clutching his wand.

He looked kind in his sleep, more vulnerable than Harry could ever remember him being, and a hazy memory infested itself in Harry’s brain: Draco had saved his life.

Draco Malfoy, who was still teasing first and second years, made fun of them for being from different houses or families;

Draco Malfoy, who had never needed to be prompted to insult Harry, but also never failed to deliver if he was;

Draco Malfoy, who got a malicious and excited gleam in his eyes when he saw Harry coming towards him to stop him;

Draco Malfoy – who seemed to do a lot of things to get Harry’s attention.

Harry’s stomach seemed to make a weird lurch he normally only felt if he jumped from his broom. But not quite. It was different somehow.

Harry couldn’t quite place the emotion unfurling in his chest as he was looking down on Draco.

He wished Hermione was there to help him figure it out.

Draco chose this moment to blink open his eyes and stare at him in disbelief.

Harry smiled at him, the slight dopey grin he really couldn’t blame on the virus anymore. “Hi,” he breathed.

For a moment, Draco’s face cracked open in a smile as well. “Hi,” he breathed back. Then he seemed to come to his senses and sat up in an abrupt motion, lurching from the bed.

“Potter,” he said, “I’m glad you’re alright. I mean. You’re alright. Right?”

He cleared his throat, and if Harry wouldn’t have been so bemused, he could’ve sworn he blushed a little.

At his confirmation, Draco just nodded to himself with a sad little smile and turned towards his own bed, leaving Harry feeling oddly empty all of a sudden.

Madam Pomfrey drew the curtain aside and stepped into their niche. “Oh, good, you’re awake, I was beginning to worry.”

Harry nodded absentmindedly, trying not to stare at Malfoy too obviously. “What happened?”

“Your body was weakened by a fever when your throat swelled shut and you nearly suffocated. I even dare say, if it had not been for Mr Malfoy here, you might not have survived the last days.”

Harry looked over at Draco’s bed to thank him, but his smile faltered when he saw that Malfoy was pretending to be asleep.

“What did he do?”

“Reduced the swelling with immediate effect and volunteered to look after you should the fever come back. You can be glad to have made such a good friend, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, watching Draco with a proud smile.

Harry nearly snorted when she called him a “good friend” of his but thought better of it.

Of course, they weren’t friends, everybody knew that, but as Harry was watching him now, it was hard to picture the 12-year-old boy he had hated with a passion somewhere in there. Harry felt like something between them had irreparably changed, something that somehow went beyond saving each other’s lives, but it was something that had also been there the whole time.

Harry could not think of a time when Draco had not teased him, insulted him and thought of ridiculous pranks to ridicule him. But Harry had never really questioned it.

Why would someone who could apparently be kind and caring, who had the ambition to help people in their lives, do something like that? And only to a single person?

 _Maybe he just wanted you to pay attention to him_. But that was a drawer in his mind Harry did not want to open just yet.

“How many days have we been here again?” Harry asked and turned his head to look at Draco. It had become familiar, to see him lying or sitting over there, sometimes wandering around the room with a slightly bored expression, and Harry found that while he was feeling better, he really didn’t want to leave the hospital wing.

Draco looked at him and casually raised an eyebrow, but there was no malice on his face.

“Five days, maybe? You could ask Madam Pomfrey when she comes.”

“Huh,” Harry said and nodded, “no, I was just wondering why… well, you know, no one has dropped by to maybe look after one of us yet.”

“Aw, is the great Harry Potter missing his fans? It must be awfully tedious to be famous,” Draco mocked him, but instead of focusing on his tone, one that Harry would have identified as ‘cruel’ in the past, he searched Draco’s face to find nothing of this in his eyes. Just some bright and shiny mockery, something that he had found even Hermione was capable of.

“Why would I be waiting for fans?” This didn’t mean that Harry couldn’t give back as good as he got. “I’m waiting for my friends, but I’m not surprised, I don’t know if you get this concept of loyalty and support-“

“Very funny, Harry,” Draco shot back and threw some bunched up parchment at him, “Apart from this being one of the lowest insults I believe you’ve ever used, I had simply assumed you knew what a quarantine entailed. As this is apparently not the case,” – his eyes widened in mockery and he made a gesture with his free hand – “it means no physical contact to any human being.” Then he winked.

It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes and fold his arms. “I hate you.”

He looked at Draco only out of the corner of his eye, and while he knew that Draco knew – Draco _had_ to know – he was only kidding, something seemed to be shifting in Draco’s face and Harry felt a sudden yearning for the jokey Draco who had been there mere seconds ago.

“Yeah, nothing new there,” Draco said and shook his head, turning back to his homework.

 _‘But it’s not true!’_ Harry wanted to say as he looked at Draco again, shoulders slightly slumped and the frown back on his face.

He didn’t hate Draco; that’s a word he had used as a twelve-year-old to describe his feelings, he had grown up in the meantime. He wouldn’t call a classmate his ‘archnemesis’ anymore, he had… he had absolutely no idea how he felt towards Draco.

There was a gentle tugging in his chest that seemed to turn louder every time he looked at Draco, the sweep of his shoulders, the elegant arch of his eyebrows and the soft, pliant curve of his lips…

 _‘Uh-oh,’_ a small voice in Harry’s head supplied, _‘looks like we’re developing a crush on Draco Malfoy,’_ and Harry wanted it to shut up, would have threatened it if it had been a real person, but as it was, he was mesmerised by the sunlight that caught in the hair Draco was brushing out of his eyes, and Harry only allowed himself a small sigh.

_‘I guess you’re right.’_

As quarantines went, when the moment came that Harry felt fully alive and healthy again, he got bored out of his mind. He was used to being out and about on the grounds, playing Quidditch or just enjoying the freedom of a walk, but spending over half a year in hiding had taught him patience.

This was, quite obviously, not the case with Draco.

“I can’t believe we’re still stuck here,” he groaned and started pacing around his hospital bed. At least they were allowed to wear their own clothing now.

“You have fully recovered. I wasn’t even sick in the first place!” It was as if he wasn’t even talking to anybody in particular, but Harry was fairly sure that Draco wouldn’t have put up such a show if it hadn’t been for him.

“And then they completely ignore all of my suggestions about the virus containment spell! I wouldn’t even mind if Madam Pomfrey had not assured me that she would consider it.”

Harry got up and took a few small steps towards where Draco was pacing.

If he let himself think, it was all quite obvious. Maybe there was a reason Draco acted like he did – maybe the aching, hungry feeling clawing at Harry’s heart wasn’t one-sided.

But there was only one way to find out.

He stepped in Draco’s line of vision, effectively making him stop pacing around.

Draco seemed to go slack for a moment, his features crumbling the littlest bit when his eyes met Harry’s, before avoiding his gaze and looking away.

Harry followed it, then pressed for eye-contact again, inching imperceptibly closer. He heard Draco’s breath hitching and stopped, his nose maybe an inch from his.

“Potter,” Draco said, a breath Harry could feel tickling his lips, tone softer than his rant, but laced with irritation.

“Potter, what are you doing? Potter.”

It was surprisingly easy to just come closer and closer, smiling up at Draco with a smile in his eyes and waiting for just the tiniest hint of withdrawal that never came. Draco either wanted this as much as he did, or he at least wanted to win.

“Potter, we could still be infected. Potter. Potter, I-“ Draco drew in a sharp breath.

If Harry opened his lips to speak, he was sure Draco could feel their movement on his.

“I thought you just said I had fully recovered.”

Watching Draco’s pupils blow up was like watching one of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ fireworks; it happened fast and surprising and left a feeling in Harry’s gut like a knot had been untied.

Then he reached out to grab Draco’s hips with his hands and clung to him while he pressed their lips together, hoping, praying, that Draco would respond in kind and did not take this for a very long round of gay chicken.

Draco moved his lips lightly against his, his breath ghosting in panicked puffs across Harry’s cheek, before Harry pulled back.

He did not know if he had overstepped his boundaries. The expression on Draco’s expression was shell-shocked at best, but Harry did not want to look for disgust in there.

He let his hands slip from Draco’s hips, slowly taking a step back, trying to leave Draco there like a wild animal he did not want to frighten.

Then Draco brought up his hand to cover Harry’s with it, and gingerly placing it back on his hip, all the while not leaving Harry’s gaze.

He licked his lips and pushed his palm up Harry’s arm until his hand was resting against Harry’s neck, his errant strands of hair curling around his fingertips.

Then he nodded, the tiniest inclination of his head so that Harry almost wouldn’t have noticed, before moving in again, gracefully letting himself fall into Harry’s arms.

Harry pulled Draco against him, his tongue a gentle caress against his that made the fireworks in his guts shoot and bloom throughout his body. Their upper bodies twisted against each other like they were dancing, into each other like they were vines destined to grow together for centuries to come.

Harry felt his knees go weak and he stumbled a little, pulling Draco down on the bed with him and laughing into his mouth.

“I think you might be right, after all,” he whispered, his thumb stroking little circles into Draco’s hipbone.

“Hm?”

“I have to still be ill,” he chuckled and pressed his mouth against the spot in front of Draco’s ear. “Why else in Merlin’s name would I have done that?”

“Oh, really.” Draco sat back a little to raise his eyebrows at him, but did not stop pushing Harry’s hair out his face.

“Yeah. Tragic, I know.”

Harry resumed kissing his ear and bit down lightly on its shell, causing Draco to huff out the most delicious little moan and arch back up into him again. He never wanted to stop doing this.

“If that’s indeed the case,” Draco whispered into his ear as well, “I suppose I should kiss it better then.”

Harry looked back at Draco again, his bleary gaze met by the mischievous grin he knew he could grow to love.

“I suppose you should.”

And if falling ill had always ended like this, Harry mused, his frequent stays in the hospital wing would have had a much simpler explanation.

**Author's Note:**

> [Please return to the community to leave a comment! ](http://hd-eighthyear.livejournal.com/5649.html)


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